Day 1 - Thursday - Settling In
My trip to Desertfest Berlin started with the necessary
complications. Due to the train strike in Germany, my buddies and I were forced
onto a night bus from Amsterdam to Germany’s mesmerizing capital city. Within
minutes of getting on the bus, I had spilled a beer over the only pair of pants
I had brought with me, which was apparently an invitation for the guy sitting
in front of me to make contact. We chatted about the problems he had dealing
with explosive personalities, and somewhere between that and wanting to rip the
feather dangling from his ear, he offered his services to me. So needless to
say, when we pulled in to Berlin at 9:30am I was in dire need of a cup of
coffee, even if it came out of a machine that stood proudly in a puddle of dog
piss. I wondered, is this the kind of stuff that touring bands voluntarily put
themselves through?
Anyway, we made a quick trip to the hostel to drop off our
bags and were promptly put in the wrong room. No big deal; the hostel
apologized and provided us with shots of Jägermeister for the inconvenience. If
this is the stuff touring bands voluntarily put themselves through, then I say
bring on the bloodshed!
On our way down to the festival we stopped in at our
favorite Curry Wurst vendor to chase the booze. So with beer-stained pants,
curry on my breath, and a head full of Jägermeister, we finally hit the
festival. The first band up was Riff Fist, which was a ridiculously good time
and in some respects the best band of the festival. The drunk Australian
threesome ploughed through songs about God knows what (potatoes?), but it was
their vibe that struck home. They were having the best time of their lives – their
words, not mine – and in a way, so were we. It’s amazing what music can do.
The next band we checked was one of a different caliber.
Baby Woodrose was their name and psych-rock was their game. They had no problem
breaking in the main stage and even though they weren’t particularly a
stand-out act, I did go hunting for their record with “Born to Lose” on it,
because that was one helluva way to close out the set. So off to the Hippy
Market it was, where vinyl, CDs, t-shirts, and posters were on sale. The
weather was clever, so we skipped a few bands in favor of cold beers in the hot
sun, fueling up for the next band, which ended up being The Picturebooks. They
played a set that, for me, was split right down the middle; the first half was
monstrous and the exact flavor of dirty blues that I like – and the second half
was more of the same. Perhaps actually having known their songs would have
enhanced the experience, but it is what it is.
By the time The Picturebooks’ set was coming to a close, the
small hall was packed full of grungy 30-somethings waiting for the curtains to
the main hall to open. This provided a larger audience for The Picturebooks,
but I knew why most of us were really there: Orange Goblin was about to finish
things off on the main stage in style by playing “The Big Black” from front to
back. And holy Hell, did they do a
fine job of it! The rumbling intro of “Scorpionica” was an invitation to join
in on a 45 minute endurance test for necks. “My God rises at daybreak, my
goddess goes down on me at dawn,” sang Ben as he directed the band and the
crowd through this stoner classic. The light show was intense, beer was flying
through the air, the bar was making the best turnover of the day, and the cult
film playing on the backdrop tied everything together beautifully. The guys
over at Desertfest made a good move scheduling Orange Goblin as the Thursday headliner.
And to think, Friday had the potential to be even better. More on
that later
Words by: Victor
van Ommen
